


Morning Star

by IntoTheUnknown



Category: Supernatural
Genre: And the Winchesters, Because he has to play mediator between his brothers, Chuck is God, Either Samifer or Sabriel dependent on how this story plays out, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel Lives, Gen, God is a dick, Like a shiiiiit ton, Lucifer Redemption, Lucifer has a shit ton of mental health issues, M/M, Michael gets the "Not as big of an dick as you could be" award, Multi, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-21 20:25:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8259520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntoTheUnknown/pseuds/IntoTheUnknown
Summary: In which God gets His head out of His ass and realizes that none of the angels are bowing to humanity like He wanted and He should either put all of them in the cage or set Lucifer free because why punish one angel if the rest are doing the same thing?
Or;
Lucifer is saved, and shipped, almost against his will, to the Winchesters with mental problems out the wazoo, Gabriel is forced to play mediator between all the brothers, both mortal and angelic alike, Castiel is more of a kid then both of the Winchester's realized and the Apocalypse is accidentally started......Again.





	1. Falling Star

**Author's Note:**

> So. Wow, I haven't posted anything in over a year....holy shit.
> 
>  
> 
> Lucifer may seem a little OOC in this first chapter, I decided that was best because he needed to be a little less crazy for the beginning to work out. My reasoning was that God used his magic God powers to soothe just a little bit of the Darkness inside Lucifer just temporarily. But don't fret, we'll get to the mental health issues later.
> 
> Not beta read but if anyone wants to do that job I'd be happy to let you!
> 
> Onwards~

_ It all began when He realized His mistake. _

_____

 

There had been light once, now there was darkness. A blackness so thick that if one had a butter knife, the butter knife would probably not survive an attempt to cut through it, it was cloying, choking, swirling around their noses, forcing it’s way down their throats, a sweet, sour, rotten stench, that just added to the atmosphere.

 

At least there were no chains this time, for thousands of years there had been chains, heavy cuffs that chafed and burned at his Form, padlocks that seared like acid. Now there was blades, the constant clash of steel against steel, the spark of grace against grace, but there was no light. The only light source that they had had down there was the pulsing warmth of one Samuel Winchester’s soul.

 

It had been a comfort, just a slight one, but a comfort nonetheless to be able to see the shadows upon the walls that made up the prison, to be able to feel something, something other than the icy chill of his grace, to feel just a flicker of warmth, of…..love. Now it, the soul, was gone and the only thing he could feel was his brother’s rage pressing against him with every block and parry they made, his own rage, blinding, so hot it chilled him, just below the surface.

 

_ Parry. Slash. Block. Counter. _

 

_ Parry. Slash. Block. Counter. _

 

_ Parry. Slash. Slash. Block. Counter. Block. _

 

A growl filled the Cage. Michael's pain and his own mingling, their wings flashed, unseen behind them as they slashed blindly at each other. Time had no meaning, it was years, centuries, millennia, all at the same time, they had no need for rest, nor drink, nothing would stop them, nothing could stop them, they were eternal, their fight was forever.

 

And so it went;

 

_ On. _

 

_ And on. _

 

_ And on. _

 

_ And on. _

 

_ And - _

  
  


There was light.

 

There was  _ light. _

 

Not the harsh light of the mortal Sun, but a warm, gentle light that filled him from the inside out, that gave mend to his long suffered aches, that relaxed his muscles, it momentarily soothed his rage, his screaming, writhing grace. 

 

And his wings! His  _ wings.  _ They weren’t twisted, skeletal, abominations of things any longer. They were fully plumed with sleek, strong feathers that fluttered in the warm breeze the light gave. He didn’t dare open his eyes, didn’t dare let the dream….the first one he had ever had, end. Because he would open his eyes and he would be back in the Cage, fighting his brother, with his rage and his pain and his jealousy and his grief and his war and his loneliness and the Darkness, that little piece that he had retained all these years, the Darkness screaming for him to slash, and burn, and kill, and bleed.

 

Here, in this one moment, he felt peace. Peace like he hadn’t felt since before the War, back before the Darkness had gripped him, when everything had been good and his youngest brother, Castiel, was learning how to fly.

 

_ “It’s time to wake up little one.”  _ A voice, one that sent a happy little shiver down his spine and had his grace leaping for joy, chuckled warmly.

 

_ “Father…?”  _  The word was spoke uncertainly, did he still have the right to call Him Father? Or had that been taken from him as well? But to his vague surprise the light, his Father’s grace, shone all the warmer.  _ Happy, He was happy. _

 

Slowly he began to open his eyes, blinking rapidly as the light went from soothing to bright and uncomfortable, he was accustomed to the dark, he hadn’t looked upon a glow such as this since before the Fall. But whatever else he had become in his banishment he was first and foremostly an archangel, and angels were made for the light, so quicker than any mortal could hope to his sight adjusted. The first things he saw at the edge of his vision were his wings. Gleaming red like polished copper, all six of them unscathed, his inner set curled towards him, trying vainly to shield him from the blow that may or may not be coming. Even slower than he awoke did he rise, not to his feet, but to his knees, bending low before his Father who was towering over him, His grace humming contently.

 

His thoughts flickered back to the last time they were like this, him, kneeling before his father, the Darkness staining his wings and skin alike, curled in on himself to offer meager protection against whatever punishment his father deemed just. He had Fallen that time, been cast out from Heaven, his wings burned so they could no longer be of any use to him, so they would hurt him. He had been chained, and tortured, but not by whips or any cruel punishment the demons of Hell could think up, no by the loneliness, the thick dark that swirled without end, all for what? For disobeying? For refusing to love the little clay men more than he loved his own Father? More than his brothers? More than his  _ home. _ How was that justice, what had he done?! What had he done that was so horrible, so unforgivably awful that he had deserved this!?

 

All he had done was  _ disobey.  _

 

Anger boiled, just barely contained below the surface, the bit of Darkness that still stained his grace flared and he had to-

 

_ “Peace Lucifer.”  _ A hand came down to cup his chin, lifting it so Lucifer was forced to look upon his Father for the first time in centuries. The vessel his Father had chosen did not do him justice, it was too  _ small _ , too plain, with light brown hair and a scruffy beard, it looked like a hermit, a tiny, scared little thing that hid beneath the rocks, a miniscule creature even amongst clay men, not worthy of the honor his Father had done by gracing it with His presence, it was-

 

_ “I said  _ **_peace_ ** _ , Lucifer.” _ His Father smiled kindly but there was a flash of something in his eyes, a warning. And like the good little soldier he was Lucifer followed the order given, even his internal monologue falling silent as he allowed his Father’s grace…..no love. That was  _ love.  _ His  _ love  _ to wash over him, holding the festering corruption at bay.

 

“ _ Rise, my Son.”  _ The weight behind those words made it a command not an invitation, Lucifer complied, rising shakily to his feet, it was like the exhaustion years of fighting should've brought came crashing down upon him all at once, his knees buckled and he had to clutch at his Father’s robes to steady himself, his wings flaring in panic. A warm chuckle resonated through the air and maybe, at one time, Lucifer would've found himself embarrassed but now, at this moment, he couldn't bring himself to care, he was hearing that laugh again, and it was  _ light _ . Which, now that his head was clear enough to think about it begged the question;  _ Why? _

 

_ Why was he here? Hadn’t he been exiled until the end of time? _

 

_ Why was he allowed to walk free? _

 

_ Why was his Father here, smiling like nothing had changed, like he was still a lieutenant of Heaven? _

 

_ Why? _

 

_ Why? _

 

_ Why? _

 

_ Wh-Oh. _

 

He hadn't realized his Father had been leading him somewhere until they stopped, at the outermost edge of….wherever they were, and Lucifer looked up. Far above them and even farther above the human realm, the sun was rising. Brilliant golds and lush pinks painted the sky, and a little to the left glimmering oh-so brightly in the pre-dawn sky was the Morning Star….

 

His charge, the brightest light in his sky besides the dawn.

 

And looking up at it he felt….. _ something.  _ Something he couldn't describe. But it was beautiful and for the first time in many, many, years Lucifer wept. 

 

____

 

It took some time for his sobs to cease, he buried his face in his Father’s robes, clinging to Him like a fledgling until they did, God had wrapped His large wings around the archangel, holding him close until he had composed himself. Pulling away Lucifer dragged his hand across his eyes... _ hands. _

 

_ Oh. He was in a vessel. Huh. _

 

He stared at his hands, turning them over to examine the palms, again to examine his nails, they were perfect, not a single blemish or scar, baby soft skin….except….what was that? On the inside of his wrist? It looked like black ink, a tattoo? In the shape of…...a pitch fork. Yes. That’s exactly what it was, a tiny tattoo depicting a three pronged pitchfork complete with a forked tail and tiny “Devil’s” horns.

 

Never let it be said God didn't have a sense of humor. Stifling the urge to send his best, “I-hope-you-rot-in-Hell” glare his Father’s way Lucifer instead turned his attention to a slightly perplexing fact, this vessel was not Sam Winchester. The hands were too small, almost dainty in comparison, and his Father was only a few inches shorter than him whereas he would've dwarfed Him in his True Vessel. Huh.

 

_ “W-who is this?” _ He asked, his voice barely a whisper, reverent and shaking at the same time. He gestured to himself, his hands stretched out like he was trying to get away from his own skin.

 

_ “It’s you, Lucifer. This vessel, it’s yours, no soul attached, I made it specifically for you.”  _ God raised an eyebrow, his most inner set of wings raising with it.  _ “Does it not please you?”  _

 

And suddenly, in his hands Lucifer held a looking glass, a heavy ornate one that was definitely too old to be considered a mirror. Staring back at him was that vessel, the one he had taken back in the Apocalypse, that first one, but  _ newer _ in a way. His hair was brighter, so golden it seemed to gleam in the light, his eyes more blue, the lines on the vessel’s face, ones that had told Lucifer that whoever he was before he had been slaughtered had smiled so often, were gone, he looked younger, fresher.

 

“ _ It pleases me very much Father but- _ ” Why, was the unspoken question. Why go through any of this trouble at all.

 

God did not answer, instead He just smiled, His very old, very sad, very pleased smile and  _ apologized. _

 

But not for what Lucifer wanted Him to apologize for, oh no, not for throwing him out of his  _ home  _ and into the Pit, simply for-No, instead he said;

 

_ “I cannot heal you my son. The wounds inflicted upon your mind are ones that not even I have the power to mend, all I can do is ease them for the time you’re with me. I am sorry.”  _

 

Lucifer paused, brow furrowed in confusion that was gone as quickly as it came, that explained many things, like how the Darkness that ate away at his thoughts had receded so quickly, how his Father could touch him without it feeling like a thousand volts of electricity, how the whispers and the hallucinations that came with being so alone for so very long had gone. He could feel the rage, the senseless need to kill and burn and….he could feel it all just beneath the surface, but it was all masked, soothed with His grace, and for that Lucifer was grateful, he could think once more with a mind that was as clear as crystal.

 

But  **_Why?_ **

 

When he tried, wings flaring and words stumbling, to voice this one, rather enormous question, his Father just waved a hand, dismissing it without a word and looking back at the sun that was creeping higher and higher over the mortal world.

 

And yet still the Morning Star shone, though it should’ve been long faded by now.

 

_ “I do believe this’ll be my favorite story yet.”  _ And though it wasn’t really an answer, it sure felt like one and with that came an all around sense of foreboding that had Lucifer’s wings bristling.

 

And without another word God snapped his fingers and the ground beneath the archangel’s feet gave way into brisk air and wispy clouds.

 

Only this time, Lucifer had his wings, so instead of Falling, he Flew.

  
_ (Or at least so he would have you believe, it truly wasn’t the most graceful of flights and really, flying gives the impression that the destination you reach is an intended one and Lucifer didn’t have much, or any, control over this one. So it wasn’t flying per say, it was more falling, but with style.) _


	2. Dean's Lament (and other ramblings)

The best way to start the day, in Dean Winchester’s humble opinion, was a mug of the strongest coffee the Bunker could produce, a slice of the most heart-attack inducing pie he could find (“Sammy we hunt monsters for a living, I will not be killed by a slice of pie”) -and then sitting, curled between Castiel and Sam as he lost himself, for just an hour, in the drama filled world of Seattle Mercy Hospital.

This was not that kind of start. He got his coffee, but only after it had been desecrated by about a half a cup of sugar thanks to a dick with wings named Gabriel who was currently using Sam’s lap as a pillow and Cas as a foot rest, and neither of them seemed to mind! In fact Castiel, as far as Dean could tell, looked happy, blissfully so, even if he did have his brother’s stinking socks in his face. Dean scowled through his sugary abomination, watching them laugh like it wasn’t o’dark thirty in the morning, Gabriel sat up to nudge Cas with his elbow, saying something Dean couldn’t quite catch but it had Sammy tipping his head back and letting out a laugh like the eldest hunter hadn’t heard in years, and he didn’t know if angels could blush but judging by the way Cas’ shoulders were trying to become one with his ears whatever Gabriel had said would’ve turned him bright red if he were human.

And if his morning wasn’t going bad enough (and no he wasn’t just grumpy Sam) -this day was just awful with the horrible coffee and the laughter when it was way too early in the goddamn morning, there was no pie. No pie! Anywhere! It wasn’t behind the week old take-out, or in the cupboards, or on the counter or….

“Are you bitchin’ about your pie again Dean-o?” Gabriel tilted his head back over the couch so he was looking at Dean upside down, those damn eyes twinkling with mischief, god Dean just wanted to rip them out….okay, maybe he was a little grumpy, but he deserved to be! He had no coffee, no pie, a disgusting lack of monster activity, and a dick of an angel who his brother insisted on housing.

“Why the hell did anyone want to resurrect you?” The question was meant to be stinging, meant to dig deep at the recently, and in Dean’s opinion, unfortunately not-dead archangel. It didn’t do it’s job, Dean blamed lack of pie.

“I dunno Dean-the-Bean, I guess Daddy just likes me.” Gabriel said it nonchalantly enough, shrugging his shoulders and wiggling his eyebrows, but as soon as the eldest hunter wasn’t looking his expression morphed to one of extreme confusion. Truly, he did not know, it took a lot of time and energy to resurrect an archangel, they were primordial beings, there from before the Beginning, why would Dad, who had left them, who refused to answer any of their pleas, spend all that time just to bring back his one massive screw-up of a son, when the only helpful thing he had ever done was die fighting the Devil?

“Well you know my-”

“Dean. Don’t.” Sam finally broke in eyes flashing in both concern and warning, shifting himself a little closer to Gabriel. Yeah, yeah, yeah, he got it, Dean-Before-Hell-And-the-Apocolypse-And-Purgatory-And-All-The-Shit-That-Followed would’ve held his tongue….. probably….

“What I-” Whatever he was about to say cut off because in the corner of his eye he saw Castiel suddenly stiffen, wheeling around to look at him...no, past him, eyes widened in alarm, next to him Gabriel, who was disappointingly unaffected by the previous argument, jumped to his feet in a movement too fluid to be human, his hair wild and his expression more so. Sam opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a look, both terrifying and terrified, by both of the angels. Before Dean could ask any questions, like, what the fuck - for example, the bunker shook, books falling from shelves that were, thankfully, bolted to the floor. Lamps flickered alternating between dark and blinding, the television, which had been all queued up to play the newest episode of Dr. Sexy M.D., fizzled out, changing instead to static before the screen shattered along with every bit of glass in the room, perhaps even in the bunker.

Then it went silent, a cold, death-like silence that nobody dared break. They all stood still looking around, with hearts hammering in their chests and eyes as wide as saucers.

Thump.

There was the sound of something hitting the ground outside that got everyone moving, then the soft rustle of fabric as Castiel and Gabriel both unsheathed their blades with an almost inaudible shiuck, and a crunching of broken glass beneath both boot and hand alike as the Winchesters scrambled to find their guns.

And now this. Yep, this morning was fan-fucking-tastic.

Slowly and as silently as they all could with the debris covering the floor they made their way outside the bunker, prepared for whatever they may find. It seemed almost peaceful outside, the sun shone brightly, warming even the breeze, the birds sung and fluttered from branch to branch, all carefully avoiding the smoking crater in the middle of the carefully maintained dirt road.

Or what used to be the road, it wasn’t a road anymore, the ground was torn up as far as the eye could see, trees up-ended, the crater itself was blackened as if it had been burned with literal smoke curling up towards the sky. Sam and Dean shared a look that confirmed that they were both as lost as one another, they crept closer taking each step gingerly as if the ground beneath their feet was about to give way. Following in their shadows were the angels, wings splayed, unseen to the mortal eye, in warning.

It was like the world was holding it’s breath as both sets of brothers leaned down to peer over the edge of the crater and stare, wide-eyed and disbelieving at the figure below.

It was a man.

But it was not a human man, they could tell, the warning bells that chimed in all their heads and the feeling of their blood freezing in their veins made it absolutely clear that this was not, under any circumstances, a human man.

A non-human, very naked, man. Great! Must be Tuesday!

“Wanna take this one?” Sam, that little shit, turned to Dean with an expression that said he was utterly terrified except for that goddamn smirk that had spread across his face.

And despite his fear, despite the thing that was curling the pit of his stomach into a little knot, Dean sent his little brother his best bitch-face, because that’s what big brothers do when faced with naked men and potential death. C’mon man! Why me? Gabriel’s the archangel make him deal with the naked people! You’ve seen those old porn-y paintings, he’s used to it!” A Dean whined, edging away from the crater, whoever was in there, whatever was in there was making his skin crawl and the hunter didn’t want to touch it with a ten-foot pole, hell! There was no length of pole in which Dean Winchester would feel comfortable touching that with.

Sam and Gabriel exchanged looks, Gabriel edging away from the basin with an expression Dean had never seen him wear before, apprehension, he might’ve gone so far to call it abject terror. Sam, though, Sam was leaning over the edge, his hair was obscuring his face but if it hadn’t been, one would’ve been able to see that, past the panic, there was intrigue, a spark in those hazel eyes that only came out when the younger hunter was studying something particularly interesting. “Because Dean-” He murmured, his eyes sliding over to Castiel. “-Out of all of us, I think you have the most experience dealing with naked angels.”

Angel?

“Sammy…” Dean started cautiously, choosing not to comment on his brother’s knowledge of his sex life, and instead skip to the more important thing like; Samuel Winchester, how the ever loving fuck could you know that….that...is an angel?!

Gabriel beat him to it. “Samsquatch?” His voice was laced with the deepest concern and it made Dean’s gut twist unpleasantly. One of the archangel’s wings crept, unseen and unfelt, around Sam offering what meager protection it could. “How did you know that?”

Sam, as if broken out of a trance, wheeled around with an almost deranged look on his face. “So it is an angel?” His brows came together in a look that was somewhere between befuddlement and epiphany .

  
“Yes.” Castiel’s voice, low and gravely, cut through the thick silence that had followed those words. “It's an angel, though which one I cannot say, their grace is shielded from me....but it feels...” His nose wrinkled as he tried to think of an English word to describe how it felt. The closest one he could come up with was home. It felt like soft feathers and gentle words and the feeling of soaring up past the clouds and not caring if you fell because someone would be there to catch you.

It was a feeling he had not experienced for many millennia.

“It feels like home.” Gabriel, having decided to venture forward,voiced what Castiel was thinking. He didn’t look well he was pale and didn’t seem all that comfortable with the idea of being anywhere near here. One hand was clenched at his side, the other was spread across his abdomen, as if he was trying to shield himself. Then, as if he’d suddenly come to make a decision, his head snapped up, golden eyes sharp. “Get him inside.”

“What?!” Dean protested. exchanging a look with Sam, or at least trying to, Sam’s gaze had turned back to the man in the crater. “We’re gonna take an angel into the bunker. The bunker, our only safe place in the entire frickin’ world! In case you haven’t noticed, angels don't really like us much!”

The archangel leveled a piercing stare the hunter’s way and spoke in a low but powerful voice, that sent a chill up Dean’s spine in a way Castiel’s was never able too. “Yes, we are.” And the hunter, in that moment, understood, really, truly, understood that Gabriel was the Messenger of God. This was not a suggestion, or even a command really, Dean couldn’t explain what it was but suddenly he felt the burning need to do what he had been told, the feeling spread like a hundred arcs of electricity throughout his whole body and when he dared to meet Gabriel’s eyes they were hard, like the molten gold had hardened and been shaped into a dagger, a blade that cut through all his protests and left him as useful as a puppet with it’s strings cut.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam carefully climb into the crater and return with the unknown angel cradled gingerly in his arms, the angel wasn’t small by any definition of the word but looked to be in that moment, curled up against the youngest hunter’s chest. Castiel tucked himself against Dean’s side, the warmth of his grace momentarily relaxing the hunter. The seraph took his hand, leading him towards the door where Sam had slipped inside just a moment ago, Gabriel hot on his heels like an overprotective….nope, Dean didn't want to think about what Gabriel’s posture made him seem like, all he wanted to think about was the fact that Castiel had stopped just a few feet from the bunker’s entrance and had turned to face Dean, a furrow in his brow and a discontented frown on his face.

“You are troubled.” The seraph’s grave voice washed over him, and before Dean could say something along the lines of “Hell yeah I’m troubled, we were in deep enough shit with Amara and the undead jackass but just to heap on more troubles why don't we add a creepy naked angel to the mix!” -Castiel’s lips were on his, chasing away all his worries with his gentle kiss.

They stood there, foreheads touching, for only a few moments before having to face reality once again but it felt like an eternity, one beautiful, endless moment, that calmed Dean more than anything else could ever hope to.

“C’mon..” He heard himself say, almost against his will. “Time to face the music..”

Hand in hand they dragged themselves inside to find that Sam and Gabriel had placed the angel in one of the metal chairs in that panic room, the one with the devil’s trap ingrained on the floor. They tied the man’s wrists to the chair, a little tighter, Dean noted, then Sammy usually would've found acceptable, and then Gabriel took to creating a circle of holy oil around the figure, holding out the canister and the match as far away from his own body as possible as if he was afraid of it. He honestly probably was.

The eldest hunter peered through the flames at the angel who was now wearing a pair of Sam’s old sweatpants, he looked familiar somehow, in a way Dean couldn't place but had his heart pounding.

Wait.

That face, it looked different without the air of utter dickishness and that God-awful smirk, he seemed so small curled in on himself instead of broad shouldered and sure of himself, but….it had to be.

“Gabriel, please tell me you slipped something into my coffee this morning.”

The archangel-turned-trickster mustered up a smirk that didn't quite meet his eyes, and fell as soon as it began. “Sorry to disappoint Dean-o.” And he did sound genuinely sorry.

“Shit.” Dean swore. “What are we going to do with freakin’ Lucifer man?” He looked between his brother and Gabriel, hoping against hope they had the answer.

They both just looked at each other, eyes tense and worried, they had both asked themselves that just moments before.

____

Just moments before…..

The angel was not as heavy as Sam thought he should've been given his bulk, instead he was light, reminding him of someone who had been malnourished. The younger hunter cradled the man to his chest, a flicker of something...not fondness, but familiarity and hidden beneath layers of terror there was that little voice, urging him to do whatever it took to care for this being in his arms.

Sam didn't give it much thought at the time but if he had, he would've realized that this voice was the same one that had urged him to drink demon’s blood all those years ago, the same voice that had screamed and cried and begged to go back when he had been rescued from the pit, the same voice that had pleaded with him to say Yes. If Sam had thought about it he would’ve realized that that voice that he had spent burying all these years, was back.

Gabriel placed a hand on his shoulder, the kind of touch he only dared give when Dean wasn't around, gentle instead of teasing. “C’mon Sam-a-Lam let's get our….friend….here some clothes.”

The angel was still completely naked. Riiiight.

Nodding, Sam passed him to Gabriel, who juggled the angel in his arms for a moment before heading off towards the panic room, the place they had decided was the best place to put their new-found friend for the time being. The younger hunter, instead of following, headed off to his room to paw through his drawers, picking out a pair of faded, grey sweatpants, his only pair without holes or suspicious stains.

He was on his way back when Gabriel screamed, or well, yelped, but in trickster language that was a scream. Drawing a gun he knew would be useless, but the weapon made him feel safe, he rushed down the hall, bursting open the door to find Gabriel on the floor, pressed against the wall. (Both very out of character for the trickster.) His hands, once again, was splayed across his abdomen. One quick glance at the angel told Sam he was still unconscious, his wrists bound tightly, so tightly it made Sam’s heart twinge, but that wasn’t important right now.

“Gabe?” The hunter sat back on his heels watching the archangel cautiously “Gabe, what is it?”

Gabriel looked up, trying for a smile and failing miserably. “Figured out who our mystery pal is Sammich.” His eyes were like molten honey, almost pleading.

Sam made a sound that was almost a whine, inching closer to the archangel as if the closing of the distance between them alone could wipe that expression off his face, not turning to face the angel in the chair just yet.

“Y’know, I knew my big brothers’ were relentless but this, this is a little much.” Gabriel continued, his expression conveying something akin to humor, and panic, lots of panic.

Big brother.

Gabriel only had three….

With a bad feeling in his stomach, Sam turned to see the face that haunted his deepest, darkest nightmares.

No.

No.

No!

  
How? He had been cage, he had…..he should...he-

Memories of that place came to the surface unbidden, of the endless hours of torture upon torture. Without knowing it he pressed himself against the wall, shivering against Gabriel.

“What are we going to do?” He whispered, his voice shaking.

“Well..” Gabriel took a shuddering breath, lifting himself off the ground. And then, ever the ass, continued; “I think our first order of business should be to give the Devil some pants.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And right after that Castiel and Dean make their enterance 
> 
> "Miss Unknown! Miss Unknown! Why is Gabriel so scared? Why is Sam acting gentle towards Luci? When did Gabe get resurrected?"
> 
> Good questions!
> 
> 1\. Gabriel is scared because in this AU he was just brought back and his last memory of his brother is getting killed by him, kind of turns you off a person.
> 
> 2\. I have a headcanon that since Sam is Luci's true vessel he subconcious is always in a state of "yes master!" "Whatever you say master!" "I'll help you Master!" When it comes to the Devil, so before Sam realized who it was, he wasn't keeping that in check.
> 
> 3\. I will write a oneshot about that lovlies ;) it was very recently


End file.
